


It Was You, Scully

by greekowl87



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e03 Triangle, F/M, MSR, post ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 08:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekowl87/pseuds/greekowl87
Summary: Murder and Scully deal with the aftermath of his drugged confession in the hospital.





	It Was You, Scully

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched ‘Triangle’ on the 20th anniversary of its air date the other night and decided to write another fic. I’d already written a ‘Triangle’ post ep fic called Swing Night which is also posted on AO3.

Mulder found himself shivering in the guest room of Scully’s Georgetown apartment at three in the morning. After his release from the hospital, one black eye and two broken ribs notwithstanding, he continued to insist he was fine. However, both Scully and the hospital agreed the only way he was leaving was under her supervision. Which was fine by him (and he did not know if it was the drugs or fatigue talking at that point).

But here he was. Georgetown. Scully’s apartment. Scully’s rarely used guest bedroom with a cold bed and stiff mattress. The only thing that made it bearable was that Scully was next door. Deciding, sleep was not going to come, he padded out of bed softly and walked into the darkened kitchen in search of something. He winced as he brought his fingers to the shiner beneath his eye and smiled fondly.

“Mulder?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin as her low voice came out of the dark. He turned to the couch and saw her watching him. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I was cold and I wanted to get something for my shiner. You did a nice job with that right hook, Scully.”

“Mulder,” she sighed. “That wasn’t me. You were probably imagining it while drifting in the sea.” She turned on the lamp by her couch and he winced at the sudden invasion of light. “And you should be back in bed, Mulder.”

“It was you, Scully. You did save the world.”

“Just like you meant saying, 'Scully, I love you,’” she scoffed.

“I meant that too. I wasn’t the one who rolled her eyes and said, 'Oh, brother’ and then walk away.”

Scully got up from the couch, deciding she wasn’t going to sleep while he was still up. “Are you still cold?” She went to the thermostat and changed it. “I can get you some blankets as well.”

“I’ll be fine, Scully.” He paused at the counter and watched her. “What? You don’t think I was serious?”

“You were on drugs, Mulder,” she answered. She went into the kitchen with purpose and got some aspirin and a glass of water. She held it out like an offering to forget the rest of the conversation. “Come on, Mulder.”

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“Because there is nothing to talk about!” She forced the aspirin and water into his hands. “Because you ran off, again! Without me! Do you have any idea what I go through each time you do that, Mulder? How could you love me if you put me through that pain and uncertainty?”

Mulder was quiet for a moment and took the offered medicine. He placed the water glass aside and invaded her personal space like a magnet. He braced both arms around her like he was anchoring a ship before a storm. Somehow he had trapped her between him and the kitchen counter. “I meant every word that I said, Scully.”

“You were drugged, Mulder.”

“It was still you, Scully. I kissed you like I should have back in that hallway. I kissed you like I meant it. Except you gave me a right hook. When I told you that I love you, you rolled your eyes and dismissed me.” He pressed his forehead against hers and she felt her breath hitch. He was so close. “I’m half expecting a left hook to match your right hook.”

“It wasn’t me, Mulder. You probably hallucinated it.”

“No. It was you.”

He teased her. His warm lips tasted her uncertainly like a hot soup before he swallowed her. Her arms took on minds of her own; her right arm twisted around his neck and her left hugged his chest. He gasped in pain and she released him. “I’m sorry! I forgot!”

“It’s fine,” he murmured.

“Dropping from a ship isn’t your brightest idea. Thank God you didn’t plunge to your death.” She quieted and replayed the scene in her head. He was drugged up but despite his cloudy gaze, there was something honest and life-affirming in his gaze when he told her. “Say it again, Mulder.”

“I love you.”

“Like you mean it.”

“I, Mulder, love you, Scully. Now and forever.”

She smiled and drew him close for another passionate kiss. She saw fireworks. Heard Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture blaring. The world stood still. She had never felt such electricity or known such passion from a single kiss. And she knew. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She was grinning like she was hiding a surprise from him. She bit her lip. “I would suggest something more, but given your ribs…”

“I’m surprised you didn’t give me a left hook.”

She hugged him closer, mindful of his broken ribs, and whispered, “My bedroom is warmer. We can’t do much but we can keep each other room.”

“I’m sure we can figure out something.”

With his hands in hers, Scully led him to her bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The forgotten living room lamp stayed on, forgotten, like a lighthouse in the fog.


End file.
